"Here, you'd better let me alone!"
"Likely!" said the artist. "I wanted a model, and now you have got to
sit for me."
Will didn't whimper in the least. Pain and anger had put him in what
would have been a towering rage if he had not been prostrate on the
ground.
"Here, you get up," he said, in a bull-dog tone.
"By and by," cried the artist, coolly, as he began to recover his
breath. "I haven't made up my mind what I am going to do yet."
"If you don't get up, I'll bite," cried Will.
"You'd better! It's my turn now; I've got a long score to settle
against you two fellows, and I'm going to pay you out."
As he spoke, the artist took out his pipe and tobacco pouch, and began
to fill up.
"Get up!" shouted Will. "You hurt."
"So do you," said the artist, "you nasty, bony, little wretch! You feel
as if you must be half-starved."
As he uttered the words there was a loud scratching, and he struck a
match, lit his pipe, and began to smoke, while the boys, now feeling
themselves perfectly helpless, lay waiting to see what he would do next.
"Ha!" said the artist. "I think that'll about do. You chaps are never
happy unless you are playing me some trick. I've put up with it for a
long time; but you know, young fellows, they say a worm will turn at
last. Well, I'm a worm, and I'm going to turn, and have my turn."
"What are you going to do?" cried Will.
"Want to know?"
"Of course I do."
"You'd better leave us alone," whimpered Josh.
"Think so? Well, I will, after I've done. I'm going to wash some of
the mischief out of you. I shall just tie your hands together--yes, I
can easily do it now--and then drop you both into the pool."
"What?" yelled Josh. "Why, you'd drown us!"
"Hold your noise, Josh. He daren't."
"Daren't! Why not? You are only boys, and all boys are a nuisance.
You've spoilt five of my canvases, and wasted a lot of my paint, making
scarecrows--at least, one of you did. But there, I won't be hard; I'll
only drop in the one who did it. Who was it? Was it you, Josh
Carlile?"
Josh was silent.
"Ah! I expect it was. It was he, wasn't it, Will?"
Will was silent too.
"Now I'm sure it was. Now then, Will; out with it. Tell me. It was
Josh Carlile, wasn't it?"
"Shan't tell," cried Will; "and if you don't let us get up directly,
I'll poke holes through all your canvases, and pitch your paints into
the dam."
The artist filled his mouth as full of tobacco smoke as he could, bent
down, and puffed it in a long stream full in the boy's face, making him
struggle afresh violently, but all in vain.
"Well, you are a nice boy--very," said the artist. "Your father must be
very proud of you. It is quite time you were washed; you've a deal of
mischief in you that would be much better out. Now then, it was Josh
Carlile, wasn't it?"
"I won't tell you. Pitch us in if you dare. Don't you mind, Josh.
He's only saying it to frighten us."
"Yes; a very nice boy," said the artist, gravely; "but as I promised, I
won't be hard, for anyhow you've got some pluck. Look here, how did you
manage to get my gamp up yonder?"
"Went up above and fished for it," said Will, coolly.
"Fished for it? What with?"
"Water-cord and an eel-hook," growled Will. "I say, Mr Manners, this
is bad manners, you know; you do hurt awfully."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the artist, boisterously. "Fished it up with an
eel-hook? Well, I suppose I am heavy. Look here, if I let you get up,
will you fish it down?"
"Won't promise," growled Will.
"All right; I believe you will," and he rolled off, leaving the boys at
liberty to spring up, Josh to begin rubbing himself all over, Will to
dash to the first big stone, catch it up, and make an offer as if to
throw it at the artist's head.
The latter blew a cloud of smoke at the passionate-looking lad, and sat
looking him full in the face.
"All right," he said, coolly; "chuck!"
Will raised the stone as high as he could, and hurled it with all his
might high in the air so that it should fall with a heavy splash into
the pool below.
"Ha!" cried the artist. "Feel better now?"
"Yes," said Will, brushing himself down. "But I say, Mr Manners, you
are a jolly weight."
"Yes, I suppose I am. I say, I'm going to have a try after the trout
to-night. Where had I better go?"
"Likely I'm going to tell you after serving me like this!"
"Of course it is. I was going to ask you to come."
"Will you ask me, if I do?"
"Likely I'm going to ask you after serving my gamp like that!"
"Oh, I'll soon get that down," replied Will, cheerily. "Here! you go,
Josh. I put it up. I'm tired now; I had all his weight on me."
"Well, but I had all his weight and yours too, and I'm sore all over."
"You can't be," said Will. "You must be sore all under, for you were at
the bottom."
"Oh, but I can't, Will. I feel as if I was tired out."
"All right," cried Will, "I'll go;" and, springing up, he scampered down
to the level where the easel and canvas still stood, and climbed up as
the others followed more slowly; and a few minutes later the umbrella
came parachute-like down, to be folded up by its owner. Will shouldered
the easel, Josh tucked the canvas under his arm, and they all walked
up-stream together as if nothing had happened, towards Drinkwater's
attractive little cottage, which formed the temporary home of the lover
of rustic art, and discoursing the while about the red-spotted beauties
whose haunts Will was to point out that evening after tea.
The cottage with its pretty garden was reached, and the boys handed
their loads to the owner.
"What time will you be here?" he said.
"We ought to start at five," replied Will, "but we can't get here till
nearly six, because Josh is going to have tea with me."
"Look here, both of you come up and have tea with me. Mrs Drinkwater
shall put two extra cups."
"Mean it?" cried Will.
"Mean it?" said the bluff artist. "Why, of course!"
The next minute the boys were walking down together towards the mill.
"Say, Josh," said Will, thoughtfully, "he isn't such a bad fellow, after
all."
"No," said josh, dubiously, "but he's an awful weight."